Twentieth Century
by mcnair
Summary: When several boys go missing, Alex suspects a ring of paedophiles are operating in London, but it’ll take a lot more than a hunch to convince Gene Hunt that something’s slipped under his radar. . . AU.
1. p r o l o g u e

* * *

**TWENTIETH CENTURY**

by apollyon rises

* * *

PROLOGUE

* * *

_the sons and brothers, fighting for another cause  
anything to give their lives some meaning._

* * *

Eight o'clock, in any mother's mind, was a bit on the late side to be playing out and about in the street.

Patricia Hollis was one of these mothers. At twenty-seven, she'd had Michael when she was fresh out of formal education but had been lucky enough to have the backbone of her family—and Michael's father, Danny—to support her. The four of them – Michael's little sister, Francesca, included – lived a relatively calm life, with Danny working as one of London's many bus drivers and both Michael and Francesca enrolled in school. Patricia stayed at home, as was expected, and spent her days washing and cleaning and her afternoons and evenings cooking and chasing after the kids.

Francesca was playing with the Zippy toy Danny had given her last Christmas, and Patricia was content to let her talk to herself and pretend that her toy was talking back. The whereabouts of Michael, however, was something she wasn't quite confident about: she'd let him go out to play with some boys from down the road three hours ago and told him to come back by seven, but the clock on the wall said it was eight o'clock which meant he should've been home an hour ago.

"Where's Mikey, Fran?" she cooed, pausing from where she was stirring the pasta to glance down at her youngest child. "Where's your big brother?"

The four year old blinked at her mother. "Unno," she replied cheerily, and then returned to playing with Zippy.

Her mother frowned, concerned. Michael was always home on time. . . and if not, he was never more than ten minutes late with grass stains and mud on his knees from where he'd been kicking a football around. Looking towards the front door, she saw no sign of him and picked Francesca up, balancing the four year old on her hip as she went to check outside.

"Michael?"

Stratham Road was deserted.

Perhaps he was having dinner at Molly's or Heather's. Patricia crossed over the road to Heather's and rapped lightly on the door. It didn't take long for the plump blonde to open the door and beam at her.

"Alright, love? What can I do fer you—how're the lil'uns?"

"I'm alright, thanks—have you seen Mikey?"

Heather frowned. "Jamie came in about an hour ago, said Mike had gone off to fetch the ball. . . haven't seen him since about six though."

Patricia shifted, nodding faintly. "If you see him, could you tell him his mum's lookin' fer him?"

"O'course, lovely. Have a nice evening, won't you?"

"You too, Heath. Thanks."

The door closed and Patricia tried Molly's and Trudy's too, to no avail. When it was nearing half-past eight, she returned to her house and phoned around the street asking if anyone had seen her son. All mothers confirmed that he'd gone to get the ball when it rolled into Stratham Rise, and that they and their kids hadn't laid eyes on him since.

At the suggestion of Trudy, Patricia phoned the police. It rang twice before it was answered.

"Fenchurch East Station, how can I help?"

She wavered slightly, biting her lip and clutching the receiver as if it might blow away from her at any moment. "I—I'd. . . like to report my son as missing."

"What's your name, miss?"

"P-Patricia. Hollis."

"And the name of your son?"

"Michael. We call him Mikey, but he's called Michael."

The officer cleared their throat. "How long has he been missing for?"

"He was supposed to be home by seven. . . but he's late, and he's never late. No one's seen him since six o'clock."

"Can I have your address, please?"

It took a few seconds for Patricia to process this. "O-oh, yes, of course. 15 Stratham Road."

"Officers will be on their way, Mrs Hollis. Thank you for calling."

The line went dead.

* * *

Several missing children had been filed in the last three days and, at Alex's insistence and constant nagging, Gene Hunt had informed the troops that they wouldn't be going home or taking any toilet breaks until they'd figured out what was going on.

This meant, naturally, that Alex was to stand by the whiteboard and profile the children whilst CID stared at her blankly and Hunt snorted and made unnecessary comments every-so-often.

"So," she began brightly, marker in one hand and five pictures of the children spread out over the board, "What do these children have in common?"

Chris stared at the pictures for a long time. "Er. . . they're all boys, ma'am?"

_At least it was an observation_, Alex reminded herself, _which is more than can be said for the rest of my constructs. There's hope for Chris after all._

"Well-spotted, Chris! What does this tell you?"

A long silence followed her question and she shifted, sighing loudly. "Come on – don't all shout at once."

"But, ma'am, we weren't shouting—"

"—yes, Chris, I know. It's just a saying." She resisted the urge to sigh again.

More silence.

"It _means_," snapped a voice coming from the direction of the Manc Lion's office, "that we have a few lads who like to run around and cause their mams grief, Bolly."

Cue another sigh. She didn't need to turn and look in order to know it was Gene. "Five boys between the ages of eight and ten go missing in three days and you don't think that's odd?" Her gaze locked onto his and she tilted her chin defiantly.

Gene snorted, swaggering towards her. "Boys will be boys," he retorted.

"Children don't up and run for no reason, _Hunt_. Especially not children this young." She watched the way he absorbed the information, the way his eyes flickered over her face momentarily before he weighed it all up in his head and stepped away.

"Well, _Drake_, since you're so convinced that you know everything in the bloody universe, why don't I hand you my badge and let _you _lead this investigation? Kids go missing, Bolls, that's the reality of life—even kids as young as this. Who knows? Maybe their mams didn't cook 'em what they wanted fer dinner and they did a runner—fact is, this is London an' people go missing every day."

Her jaw clenched slightly and she pointed at the five photos again. "These are _children _and _children _don't _do _runners, Gene. This isn't one of those open and shut cases—"

"—open and closed, actually," he interrupted smugly, amused at the irritation that crossed her face.

"—_regardless_, it's not one of those easy cases that you seem to _love _so much. This has layers—"

"—like an onion," Chris provided helpfully, but although Shaz smiled, his comment went unnoticed by the two senior officers.

"—and these children are _missing_. You're making the team stay late to solve this, so let them solve it and let these boys go back to their families. . . back to the people that _love _them." Her mind tripped to Molly, and she exhaled heavily, turning away from him and back to the board.

Sniffing heavily, the DCI clapped his hands and turned to his colleagues. "You heard the lady—_mush_! I am goin' to my office to play a bit o'Pong and have a think about why these kiddies are runnin' away. Don't knock if you need me."

Moving to stalk back to his office, the appearance of Viv at the door of CID made him pause and he jerked his head as the go-ahead for the PC. "_Yes_?"

"Another boy missing, guv," the male replied, handing him the form. "Hasn't been since six, his mum's worried sick. I said we'd send someone over to start the procedures."

"Correction," Gene said after two seconds of silence, "Me an' Mother Theresa over there are goin' to this lady's house. Pong can wait until I return—Raymondo, man the ship while I'm gone. Chris, do whatever it is you do an' Shaz, stick to the paperwork. If you're feelin' adventurous, see if any of you can work out Mother Theresa's mumbo jumbo psychiatry bollocks on the board."

He grunted lightly and then turned to Alex. "You comin', Bolls?"

As they made their way to the Quattro, she had only one thing to say to him. "It's _psychology_, not _psychiatry_."

"S'all the same bollocks to me, Bolls."

* * *

**notes**: this is my first _ashes to ashes _fic, so any comments and criticism would be loved. i'm not sure if i've got the gang in character. . . therefore i'd love pointers on how to improve them and stuff. i'm doing a lot of research into the plot, but if i offend anyone later on, i really don't mean to. there isn't a lot of information about paedophilia on the internet, but i'm trying my best. thanks in advance. (: ohoh—the lyrics at the beginning are from violence by the pet shop boys. . . who happen to be my favourite band in the world. the title is also the name of a pet shop boys song, which i recommend listening to (as well as anything by the pet shop boys): twentieth century. . . and none of the characters belong to me, either.


	2. o n e

* * *

**TWENTIETH CENTURY**

by apollyon rises

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

* * *

_y__our life's a mystery, mine is an open book  
if i could read your mind, i think i'__d take a look._

* * *

"Workin' at quarter to bloody nine just ain't right, Bolls," Gene managed between gritted teeth as the Quattro roared to life. "Should be in Luigi's right now—s'beer o'clock an' I fancy some of his house rubbish."

Folding her arms, Alex kept her eyes on the road. "Left," she responded, "And then right—"

The reflective mood of the Gene Genie vanished. "_Thank you_, Mother Theresa; I do know where I'm _bloody _goin'!"

Glancing at him, she tilted her head as she surveyed him. "Let me guess. . . when you want my opinion, you'll ask for it?"

"Think you're a mind reader now, d'you?" His gaze shifted to her and then back to the road.

Alex smiled thinly. "One simply cannot forget the way you drill commands into our heads, Gene. Poor Shaz must have that saying permanently etched into her mind."

He glanced at her again. "Are you implyin' the Gene Genie's a parrot, Bolls?"

"No, no, of course not—" another thinly-veiled, amused smile, "—I'm merely commenting that, like most men, a little creativity wouldn't do you any harm—"

The Quattro turned suddenly, cutting Alex off in mid-flow. Part of her speculated that he'd done it deliberately so as to shut her up. The slight curling of his fingers at the wheel seemed to hint to that much, anyway.

Gene shrugged at the wheel, eyes scanning the street. "Are you talkin' about in the sack or in general?"

A change of subject was clearly in order. "Number fifteen, Gene. Pull up there."

"Once again, Mother Theresa, I thank you for pointin' out the _bloody obvious_."

* * *

Patricia Hollis was in a quiet state of distress, Alex noted. She'd taken a few minutes to answer the door—which Gene hadn't liked, commenting that he was going to _kick the door down an' teach the missus a thing or two about wastin' police time_—and had finally opened the door with a weak smile and an offer of tea. Alex had politely accepted for both of them and, for the sake of Gene, had asked if there were any biscuits.

Pink wafers and strong tea now accounted for, the DI advised Patricia to sit down in order to answer a few questions. Gene loitered by the doorway, broody and intimidating as his eyes scanned the photos scattered above the fireplace, and Alex did what she did best: ignored him and got on with the inquiry.

"How would you describe your son, Mrs Hollis?"

There was a slight pause as the woman raised her cup to her lips and took a small mouthful of tea. "He's a nice boy, you know. . . difficult at times, but a nice boy. Looks after his sister, too, and likes his football. . . don't most boys, though?" A weak laugh, and then, "He has his fair share of friends down the road and at school—he's sociable and friendly, people love him—God knows me and his dad love him to bits. . ."

She drew a shaky breath.

"Take your time, Mrs Hollis." Alex continued onwards and upwards. "Has he ever done anything like this before?"

"No—Mikey's a good boy, he's not a troublemaker and he wouldn't do this. He's always home on time, and if he isn't, I always know where he is."

Opening her mouth to respond, Alex was cut off by her DCI. "You know how boys are, Mrs Hollis," he provided from the doorway, stepping further into the room and towards the fireplace so that he could get a better look at the photographs, "They're all nice lads and then one day you wake up and they're little shits."

"I believe," Alex intervened neatly, glaring at his back, "That what you're describing is called _being a teenager_. Michael is only—"

"—nine," Patricia answered, fiddling with her hands. "He turned nine in February."

"Therefore, _DCI Hunt_, Michael is far too young to be displaying—"

"—drug users an' ladies of the night are getting younger and younger, Drake. What's to say the ages that kids b'come little shits aren't getting younger, too?" He picked up one of the photos and eyed it for a while. "This your boy, Mrs Hollis?"

"Yes, that's him."

"Do you mind if we photocopy the picture so we can attach it to his missing person file?" Alex asked, choosing to pay no attention to Gene's derisive sniff in the background.

"No—no, not at all. . . take anything if you think it'll help."

Nodding, Alex rose and crossed over to where Gene stood, taking the photo from his hand and pocketing it in the jacket she was wearing. "Thank you, Mrs Hollis."

Some sort of male intuition seemed to have guided Gene into thinking that it was his turn to do the questioning, or so Alex thought as she observed him swagger over to where the mother of two was sitting, position himself next to her, reach for and take a bite out of a pink wafer and proceed to size her up like a lion sizing up its prey.

"Pay close attention to what I'm about to say, Mrs Hollis, because I only say things once an' I don't fancy wastin' my breath on someone like you. Now, your son has upped an' left home for no conceivable reason that I can think of—though I tend to leave that namby-pamby bollocks up to DI Drake, so if you 'ave any questions, direct 'em at her—an' I bet he'll be back 'ome tomorrow singin' songs about 'ow he went out for a fun an' ended up in bloody Westminster, 'ad a right laugh an' then thought about 'ow he'd best come 'ome to see his mam."

Alex opened her mouth to interrupt, but Gene carried on going, ignoring the teary-eyed mother in front of him.

"I highly bloody doubt that your Mikey, or whatever his soddin' name is, is missin'. Kids don't go missin', Mrs Hollis, an' if they do, they always turn up. If—no, _when_—Mikey does turn up, give us a call an' I'll come over an' give him a good talkin' to about 'ow he shouldn't scare his mam like that."

Patricia exhaled weakly and nodded slowly. Gene seemed oblivious to the fact she was about to cry as he finished off his wafer, stood up, dusted his suit down and turned to his DI.

"Shall we be off now, Bolls?"

Alex pushed past him in silence, kneeling next to the woman and taking her hand in her own. "Excuse my DCI, he's a typical man and doesn't quite know how to deal with women." Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she was Gene pull a face. "We _will _find your son, Mrs Hollis, and we _will _bring him back to you, I promise. You can ask for me at the station if you want to speak to me—I'll be happy to talk to you—and if you think of anything else, feel free to call again and tell us."

Mrs Hollis nodded quietly, managing a soft "Thank you," as Alex got to her feet and gave the woman a quick, brief hug. Turning around, she noticed Gene was in the hallway. "We'll see ourselves out. What time does your husband get home?"

"A—about ten minutes. . ."

"Make yourself a cup of tea and talk things through with him when he gets home." She smiled, hugged the woman again and left alongside Gene, the smile falling off her face as soon as she was outside with him.

"I hope you're pleased with yourself."

"Whatever do you mean, Bolls?"

"You made that woman feel like an awful mother—you implied that she's making a fuss out of nothing. Do you know what it's _like _to be in a situation where your child goes missing?"

Gene didn't grace her with a reply. She climbed in the Quattro and slammed the door shut.

"Easy on the car, Drake – you need a drink."

Sour-faced, she scowled at the road. "_You _need to realise that there are _children _missing out there and that it's _our job_ to _find _them."

He started the engine and pulled away from the curb with ease. "Is that what you think?"

"Yes, Hunt, it _is _what I think."

"Go on, then. Astound me with your psychiatry."

There was no need to remind him that it was psychology. Instead, she folded her arms and allowed her scowl to deepen at what was going through her mind. "I think we're dealing with a paedophile—maybe more than one."

"A _what_, Drake?"

"A paedophile, _Hunt_, is someone who has recurring sexual urges towards, and also fantasises about, children. This can also extend to someone who has acted on such urges and engaged in sexual acts with children."

A short gap of silence, then: "Bullshit. Not on my patch."

"It's possible."

"What makes you think that?"

"Paedophiles are attracted to children who haven't yet entered puberty. . . and these boys that have gone missing are all around a similar age and have disappeared in the same area. We could be dealing with a paedophile or a group of paedophiles."

"Are you tryin' to suggest that some sick bastard gets his kicks from touchin' up kids?"

"It's more than just 'touching up', Gene—"

"—_is that what you're tryin' to suggest_?"

Taken aback by the steely rage in his voice, Alex exhaled slowly, cautiously and nodded. "Yes. . . though I'm not trying to suggest it, I'm merely saying it's a possibility."

"No." The response was instant and flat. "No."

"These boys could be in _serious danger_, Gene! We have to at least _look _into this line of inquiry—"

"—alright then, Bolls, where do you bloody suggest we start lookin'?"

"The Sex Offende—"

"—the _what_? Spit it out!"

"We look at anyone who has a history of assaulting children under the age of thirteen, or has any sort of record associated with children."

Gene grunted slightly, eyes narrowing at the road ahead. "I'll get Chris an' Raymondo on that tomorrow."

"_Tomorrow_?"

"Somethin' wrong with that?"

"The problem with that, _Gene_, is that 74% of all abducted children are murdered within three hours of the abduction."

Gene glanced at her, slowing down momentarily. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Just _trust _me. This can't wait until tomorrow."

"The Gene Genie says it can, Bolls. We're goin' back to the station to round up the troops and head down to Luigi's shit'ole."

* * *

Chris, Ray and Shaz were rounded up easily enough after Gene had barked orders at them to grab their coats and get to Luigi's as fast as their legs could carry them. Chris had remarked that cars didn't have legs, to which Ray rolled his eyes and elbowed him sharply, and CID left the building with Alex skulking behind them in silent, contemplative anger.

Of course, the atmosphere at Luigi's was bright and cheery as always, with Chris and Ray trying to best each other in a competition that pit one against the other in a contest of who could shove the most breadsticks in their mouth and drink a pint at the same time. It was messy, but the laughs they were earning made up for that.

Alex wasn't laughing, hunched over in her corner with Gene and staring fixedly at the bottle of red wine in front of her. She'd finished one glass some time ago, and had yet to pour herself another.

"You're annoyed with me." She noticed how it was a statement and not a question—Gene could be perceptive when he wanted to be. Pig-headed arrogance often stopped him from noticing things, however.

"How long did it take you to figure that out?"

"Not long." There was a slight pause as he picked up the bottle and poured her some more wine. "I meant what I said, Bolls. Not until tomorrow."

She gritted her teeth, fingers curling around the glass in a subtle manner as she pulled it towards herself and took a slow, steady sip from it. "Tomorrow could be too late. That boy—and the other boys that have gone missing as well—they could all be _dead_."

A short look at Gene showed him to be unmoved. "I still say they're havin' an adventure, Bolly. S'what kids do. Anyway, s'not like anyone's seen a weird-lookin' man hangin' around."

"Paedophiles don't _hang around_ and these children haven't 'gone on an adventure'."

"I stand by what I've said. Open and close case, Bolls. Bet they'll be back 'ome in time fer tea tomorrow."

She snorted into her wine. "Did _you _go on adventures when you were a child?"

He watched her for a few seconds. "Nope."

"Then what makes you so—"

"—could ask you the same question," he shot back as he beckoned the owner of the restaurant over again. "Another bottle of your house shite, Luigi!"

"Don't change the subject."

"Tomorrow, Bolls. End of discussion."

They sat in silence for a while, Alex sipping steadfastly at her wine and Gene watching Ray and Chris engage in another competition.

"Bloody great lot of idiots, ain't they?" he said after a few minutes of quiet.

"They have potential."

"Just think, if we die, they're what's left of London's finest."

Rolling her eyes, Alex didn't grace him with a response. She stood up suddenly, exhaling. "I'm going to bed."

One hand fastened onto her wrist and her eyes hardened as she eyed Gene speculatively. "You bloody ain't, Bolls. I know that look on your face – yer up to somethin'."

". . . I'm going to work on the case."

"Yer brains are addled with alcohol. No point."

"_Gene_—"

"—just sit down an' bloody _relax _for once, Drake. S'not like you've got kids at 'ome that rely on you solvin' this case."

She yanked her hand out of his grip as if his touch burned. _I do—oh. . . Molly. . ._ "Mothers and their children are relying on us to solve this case."

He raised his glass to his lips in a casual manner. "'Ow many times do I 'ave to say this, Bolls? _Tomorrow_."

"Come tomorrow, those children might be _dead_. Did you ever stop to think about _that_, or how _that _will affect their _parents_?" Irate annoyance flashed across Alex's face and she stormed away from the table in silence, leaving Gene staring after her in her wake.

* * *

**notes**: quick update cos i couldn't resist writing this. i'm not sure if it's paced too quickly, too slowly or if it's just right, so comments and jazz on that will be loved. thanks for all your reviews—promise i'll respond to 'em and stuff in the next chapter. i did some quick research and paedophilia wasn't well-documented or known about in the 80s (the only examples i could find were men who'd received charges of indecent assault and a couple of fines for indecent exposure), which will explain gene's lack of knowledge about paedophiles and stuff. hopefully it makes sense and it's plausible. . . by the by, lyrics at the top are by the pet shop boys again. i hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	3. t w o

**TWENTIETH CENTURY**

by time and tea

* * *

CHAPTER TWO

* * *

_you live within the law, and everyone assumes  
you must find this a bore, and try something new._

* * *

A uniformed officer that Alex didn't recognise had replaced Viv for the night shift. She offered him a thin smile upon entering Fenchurch's reception, and he nodded his head towards her, despite no verbal acknowledgement passing between the two of them. Moments later, Alex left the reception behind and headed down the darkened corridors to CID, still fuming and irate at Gene's belligerence and refusal to accept the possibility of sexual predators active and present on his 'patch,' or whatever it was he'd called it.

She reached her desk and glanced over at the whiteboard, where her case scrawl was still present – clearly the cleaners had thought better than to erase it. Pausing for a moment, Alex leant over and grabbed the case files scattered on her desk, flicking through them in order to find similarities between the missing children.

The DI sighed, crossed over to the whiteboard, picked up the marker pen and set the files down so that she could easily glance between the board and the folders, and then started to scribble furiously.

_Five boys – all between eight and ten_

_All go missing in three days_

_All go missing in the same area, maximum of ten roads apart (Stratham Road – Heatherton Drive)_

_Brown or blue eyes – short hair_

_Possibly attend same primary school (double check!)_

Breathing out, Alex stepped back to survey her notes so far. They were sparse; she looked down at her files, briefly scanning for anything else that could be of interest, and then returned her gaze to the whiteboard, something else crossing her mind.

_How are they taken? Figure of trust? Dysfunctional home life?_

Mrs Hollis had seemed like a nice woman, despite the way the DCI had handled her, and her home appeared to be safe and loving – like every home should be. It didn't make sense that Michael would run away from a home like that, even if children did run away for all sorts of reasons, and five boys missing in three days _wasn't _just a coincidence, regardless of what Gene said or thought.

"What am I missing?" she murmured to herself, staring hard at the board. "What else could there be?" She _knew _cases like this – paedophiles were usually in positions of trust, or gave off the attitude that they _could _be trusted, but where did that leave them?

_Interview teachers_, she wrote underneath 'dysfunctional home life,' underlining it twice. As she was underlining, she heard the door swing slightly, not bothering to turn around in order to see who it was. "Chris, could you—?"

"Well, I'm insulted. Do I _sound _like DC Skelton, DI Drake?"

Inwardly, Alex sighed, capping the marker pen and shifting so that her back was to the board and she was facing Gene. "No, I simply assumed—"

"Assumed what?" he barked, tilting his head faintly. "It's highly bloody unlikely that DC Skelton would come back to the station for anything. He'd forget his head if it wasn't screwed on." He cast an eye at her whiteboard, and then focused his gaze on her again. "As for you, I distinctly remember saying we'd work on this case tomorrow."

"Technically it _is _tomorrow," Alex shot back, setting the pen down on the nearest desk. She saw Gene glance at his watch.

"Not for another two hours, Bolls."

Silence spanned between them. "I want to work on this case, Gene. Nothing you say is going to change my mind."

He sized her up for a moment, lip jutting, eyes sweeping over her. "Alright, we'll do it your way." Taking off his coat, Gene threw it over Chris's chair, shoving his hands into his pockets. "What have you got so far?"

"Well, there's what's on the boar—"

"—I can see that. Tell me yourself."

She bit back a sigh and momentarily glanced at the whiteboard. "Most of it you know already – five boys, all between the ages of eight and ten, go missing in the space of three days. They all live in the same area, and they probably all go to the same school – I haven't checked that yet, but I'll do it first thing in the morning. . ." Trailing off, her gaze flickered to Gene, surprised to see he was paying close attention to what she was saying.

"Carry on, Drake," he instructed, heading towards his office. She moved to follow him, but the look she received told her to stay put. "I'm not going to run off."

"I think we're looking for someone in a position of trust, guv," Alex called while she watched him move around in his office, hunched over the filing cabinet with what looked suspiciously like two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey. "Or someone who can act like they're in a position of trust," she added – tones softer as he returned from his office, her suspicions confirmed.

"So we're looking for a bastard who pulls off the cosy granddad act?" Gene inquired, handing her a tumbler of whiskey. "Offerin' sweets and all that pile of shite?" He took a swig of his drink; she didn't touch hers.

"I suspect so."

"Suspect isn't good enough, Bollyknickers," Gene retorted, leaning against Chris's desk. "If you're so desperate to prove this case is a kiddie fiddler, I need facts. If some bastard is going around touchin' up boys, I want to nail him and string him up from the nearest church by his balls."

Alex smiled thinly. "I quite get the picture, thank you."

"Crucifixion will be nothing once I'm done with him," he continued, swirling his drink idly. "Jesus will have had it easy – this scumbag won't know what's hit him."

"Or them," Alex added, reaching for the pen and setting her drink down. "There could be more than one."

She saw Gene's face change. "Sometimes paedophiles operate in gangs," she elaborated, neatly adding _gang _onto her list, "Or rings, as they're also known. They traffic children between them, so that – to put it in your terms – 'everybody gets a go'." Queasiness hit her at the thought of it, but she steeled her emotions and turned back to her superior officer, who seemed to share her line of thought.

"I see." His jaw was clenched slightly and he downed the rest of his whiskey in one mouthful, setting his glass down so heavily that it made a loud noise as it hit the desk. "How, exactly, do I go about _catching _one of these bastards?"

* * *

Ten hours later, at eight o'clock in the morning, CID was a hub of sluggish activity.

Gene had summoned them in early following an all-night stint at the station in order to find out why Alex was so adamant about solving this particular case, and – despite uncovering the seriousness of the situation – his mood had worsened somewhat due to lack of sleep and Shaz being off sick.

"_Drake_!" he boomed from the doorframe of his office, causing her to look up from her workload, "Have you made any progress?"

She sighed, muttering something to herself. "Chris and Ray are off checking out the school, guv," she called back, rubbing her eyes slightly. "We'll know more when they get back."

"Look lively," Gene responded, "It was your idea to stay up all night." He paused, turned back to his office and then glanced over his shoulder at Alex again. "One black coffee, one sugar – chop, chop."

The door of his office slammed shut, leaving Alex grimacing to herself.

* * *

"I could do with a fry-up right now," Chris moaned as Ray pulled up outside the gates of Stratham Primary School. "I'm _starvin'_. Dunno why the guv couldn't let us get breakfast."

"We're on official police business, idiot," was Ray's response as they piled out of the car and slammed the doors shut, heading into the school. "No time for eatin' – there's witnesses to interview and stuff. Drake said she found out all the kiddies went to this school, so apparently we've got to find their teachers."

They strolled into reception, Ray's eyes lighting up at the sight of the young receptionist. He elbowed Chris in the ribs and sauntered over to her, leaning against the desk as she looked up.

"Can I help you, sir?"

"Police," he said, flashing his badge. The woman sat up, attentive. "We're here to interview teachers and the like about some missing boys."

"Suspected kidnappings," Chris provided, watching the woman's face shift to a faint look of horror.

"Oh, my – I'll telephone the headmaster right away."

"Much appreciated," Ray grinned, casting a glance at Chris. "Tell him we're here and that we've already started interviewing people."

Chris began to move off, hovering nearby when he saw Ray was still talking to the receptionist. "Er, Ray?"

His colleague shot him another glance, this one lined with irritation. "You go on – I'll catch you up in a minute."

"But we're meant to interview them together. . ."

With a barely restrained sigh, Ray tore himself away from the receptionist and followed after Chris, scowling. "Alright, alright," he muttered, rolling his eyes and looking around for the first classroom. "Where to first?"

"Left," the receptionist called. "That's where Mrs Ealing is."

"Cheers, love," Ray replied over his shoulder, heading left with Chris in tow. "Receptionists. Can't live without them."

"You said receptionists were useless and could never get anything right. Remember when Phyllis heard you say that? Thought she was going to kill you, the look she gave you."

"That woman could kill herself just by lookin' in the mirror."

Chris snorted, concealing laughter. "Hey, Ray," he whispered as they neared the classroom, "I'm still starvin'."

"Guv'll kill us if we don't get this done." Ray peered through the classroom window, his face an expression of horror as he recoiled. "Cor blimey, how's a fat bird like that gone and got herself a husband?"

"Let me see, move up!" Chris took his turn to peer into the window and pulled back quickly, his expression matching Ray's. "Bloody _hell_."

"Looks like a cross between a cow and Sally Struthers."

"After you, mate. She's all yours."

Ray elbowed Chris, pulling the handle down and pushing him inside. He went flying, stumbled, managed to catch himself and narrowly avoided crashing into the woman's desk, her startled '_oh_!' of surprise drowning his hurried apology as he gathered himself together and cleared his throat.

"Er – sorry," Chris managed, as the woman smoothed her dress down to hide her shock and Ray sauntered in casually behind him. "Police," he added, smiling weakly. "We're here about the five missing boys."

"Terribly sorry about 'im," Ray stated loftily, glancing between Chris and Mrs Ealing. "He goes all funny when he sees a good-looking woman."

Chris sent him a look that was a mixture of panic and horror. Ray carried on, nonplussed. "I'm DS Carling, this is DC Skelton. Mind if we talk to you for a bit?"

* * *

**notes: **SO sorry this took so long! i've had writers' block for forever, and the new series of _ashes to ashes_ starting really got my muse going. this is still completely AU - i've also decided to cut scenes between gene & alex and chris & ray in order to develop chris & ray a bit more, because you never see them on their own and i'd love to see that, personally. i hope you'll forgive me for the wait, and that you enjoy this chapter! feel free to give more constructive criticism on the characters and whatnot - i hope gene seems a bit more.. believable with his interest in the case now than he did before. i'm not quite sure how to demonstrate that further right now, but i'll think of something. hope you guys all had a good easter; thanks for reading and reviewing! x


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